The hip-hop world has seen its fair share of tragedy during its short and often tumultuous history. Now, it continues to feel the gripping pain of loss, as the music community mourns the death of acclaimed producer and musician Jay Dee a.k.a. J Dilla. Born James Yancey, Dee passed away Feb. 10 as a result of complications from lupus, the disease he had been fighting since around 2003. He was 32.
Although his career was cut tragically short, Dee's prolific output over the 13 years (a millennium in the lifespan of a hip-hop artist) he spent as a recording artist and aural innovator has left an indelible mark on hip-hop. Emerging from Detroit, Dee helped to stylistically expand the sound and purpose of the Native Tongues movement, which focused on smart, positive rhymes and messages, by producing beats for legends like A Tribe Called Quest, Busta Rhymes, Pharcyde and De La Soul.
When independent record labels breathed life into the critically acclaimed yet nearly deceased genre in the late '90s, Dee was there. His work behind the boards for intelligent hip-hop purveyors like Mos Def, Talib Kweli, Common, the Roots, and his own band, Slum Village, brought the realness, sincerity and soul of the Native Tongues movement to a new crop of eager followers. Even as his prestige as a producer grew, Dee stayed true to his underground roots till his death, working with independent favorites like Ghostface Killah, MF DOOM and fellow crate-mining virtuoso Madlib, with whom he split production and rhyming duties on 2003's smash "Champion Sound."
Despite the impact he made with his countless collaborations, Dee shined most brightly on the two solo albums he released. 2001's "Welcome 2 Detroit," the first installment of the brilliant "Beat Generation Series," put out by UK label BBE, will stand as one the greatest producer-crafted albums of all time. It was there that Dee finally broke free from the confines of commercial, and even underground, hip-hop, intertwining his slurred, sparse but unstoppably pounding drum and bass loops with African rhythms, jazz improvisation and brass-soaked orchestral arrangements, often leaving MC's behind and taking listeners on a whirlwind musical journey (something rarely achieved by even hip-hop's greatest).
His latest album, "Donuts," released three days before his death, continues that approach. The all-instrumental album, partially composed by Dee during his lengthy hospitalizations between 2004-2005, is the ultimate tribute to old school R&B, soul and funk. Cycling through the album's 31 short but irresistible tracks resembles an ever-rotating radio dial, skipping from station to station, but always keeping you tuned in until the words from our sponsors set you on your way.
Hip-hop is an art form and culture that determinedly rose from the streets, and despite its recent mainstream acceptance and subsequent dissemination throughout white suburban culture, it is still inescapably linked to those same gritty streets where it all started.
Like the gangland slayings of Biggie and Pac remind us, when you live by the gun, you often die by it. Violence still sells in hip-hop, and having its biggest stars brutally murdered helped to make it the diluted, moneymaking machine it has become. However, fans of socially conscious, thought provoking and markedly gangsta-free beats and rhymes will truly appreciate the gravity of Dee's passing. With Dee, there was no over-hyped costly feuds, no claims of multiple bullet wounds or a crack slangin' past. His purpose was simple: to quietly, without self-promotion, take hip-hop to its highest levels of creativity and musicality. Just like the seldom-mentioned autoimmune disease that brought upon his end, Dee and his music were so often overlooked, but nevertheless affected so many.
